


munwrites

by MMagpieMcCorkle



Category: Original Work, Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Asexual Character, Bisexual Character, Bisexual Female Character, Brother-Sister Relationships, Cannibalism, Character Death, Character Study, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Domestic, Dreams and Nightmares, Dysfunctional Family, F/F, F/M, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Headcanon, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Lesbian Character, M/M, Meta, Mild Gore, Multi, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Original Character(s), Paranoia, Platonic Female/Non-Binary Relationships, Polyamory, Sex-Repulsed Character, Sex-Repulsed Chris, Unrequited Love, hypersexual character, internalized ableism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 22:03:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 7,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9291458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MMagpieMcCorkle/pseuds/MMagpieMcCorkle
Summary: A collection of my writing/self-paras on my RP blogs. Will be updated sporadically, probably. Whenever the feeling hits me.update / 20th/Jan/17 - rating change for future chapters and sensitive subject matter.





	1. UD/CANON: BETH : the coliseum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beth has a nightmare while she's living on the mountain.

she’s never been to italy before. family called off the vacation at the last minute when she was fifteen, during the summer; the plane that would’ve taken them there crashed. dead passengers.

she’s never been to italy before. doesn’t know how it looks–not the countryside nor the popular tourist spots, not the villas. vague memories of school talking about it for the sake of literature. otranto and steep gradient paths. as far as her memory’s correct. 

she’s never been to italy before.

and yet.

she’s walking through a labyrinth of high-built, sun-washed buildings that should be homes, but echo emptiness. sees two little girls at the end of a stretch.

hannah and beth. 12, maybe. or 11. 10? she’s guessing. josh shouldn’t be too far behind them.

the twins stare at her. stare because she’s alone.

“hey.” where’s mom and dad?

they trot away, down the path, away, away. not so steep as supposed-otranto. and josh is still nowhere in sight.

“wait.” she’s wearing flip-flops, shorts, sleeveless t-shirt, and a sunhat. she’s walking faster. can’t let them leave her sight.

“wait, i’m safe.”

hannah and beth are running, sandals making an echoing slap. the city’s dead. reeking dead.

she runs after them. stumbles. falls and scrapes both bare knees and they sting. rips off the flip-flops and starts after again. the path, supposedly sunbaked stone like those in supposed-otranto, is cold.

she finds them in the middle of the coliseum. pillars, columns, circling them. pale stone and mossy. moss is everywhere, ticklish underfoot.

she holds her sunhat, touristlike, watching them. their backs are turned to her, joined at the hands so tightly it’d take forever to force them apart.

and josh is sitting at the top. keep walking forward. pick up the twins. pick up josh. walk away. you’ll be safe.

her hands reaches for their link–their hands clenched together–and they flinch and scream away. there’s a smell in the air, a second smell to join the city’s death-reek. something bitter and josh-like.

“go away!”

and there’s her sister, not too far from josh, inelegant bone-white skin taut and toothy, milky-eyed. her sister screams. she screams.

but josh doesn’t. too far away to tell, but she knows he doesn’t. he sits, patient. inebriated? but he’s 12. not allowed.

she tries to grab hannah and beth but they don’t want to be touched. “go away!” and there’s more like her sister. hungry, hungry, hungry. closer every second. where’d they come from?

“please.” she begs. but beth struggles away, lets go of hannah, and hannah’s screaming. she picks up hannah ( _couldn’t save her the first time but she can now, she can now_ ), screaming, both screaming, but she turns and cries out again because there’s no way out.

and beth, little 11-year-old beth, is screaming and bloody and dying and josh is sitting there, welcoming her sister, too gone ( _gone where? gone where? drunk? gone?_ ) to be afraid, welcoming her sister to bite his throat open.

“why?” hannah sobs. she knows the whole question. she knows it and asks it every day.

“i’m sorry.”

“why didn’t you-”

there’s nothing else hannah says. hannah bites. hannah is hungry.

should be warmer, here. in italy.

——

Beth wakes up, groggy and still tired. She flops back down, glaring at the waning sunlight.

What kind of fucking symbolism-?

But it doesn’t matter. She has to focus on getting ready for another night on the mountain, and dreams and nightmares are just distractions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [beth voice] tfw guilt


	2. UD/CANON: BETH : infection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beth, Chris, Jess, and Emily survive. They have to live with that. (Beth/Emily)

Flames licking up towards the morning sky are still present in Beth’s head, like a stuck needle on a record. The lodge is a charred, broken wreckage, and as far as she knows, Sam’s body ( _oh god sammy, sammy **no**_ ) is still under there.

She’s knocked back into the present ( _still in the station and we’ve probably got infections or some shit - oh **fuck** , emily got bit_) by a voice, Chris’.

“Beth?”

“Yeah?”

He looks like he’s stuck for words. He looks like ( _he’s gone through hell - saw someone die - saw a ghost_ ) shit.

He makes a vague gesture, waving his hand in front of his face. “You looked…”

“… Blank?”

He nods and goes quiet again.

Leaning back and staring in Jess’ direction ( _poor thing’s only got a friggin’ blanket, must be cold_ ), she waits for the ranger to finish interviewing Emily; Beth’s next for questioning.

—

Flames licking up towards the morning sky are still present; crackling, burning wood and a whistling wind are the only things she can hear. No screaming. No other voices.

Emily’s standing a good 10 or 15 feet in front of her, facing the burning wreckage. Jess is standing next to the right of her, like they’re still friends, shivering and wrapped in a ( _blanket? towel?_ ) and Chris is to the left, but closer to Beth.

_Where’s the helicopter?_

She tries to call out for them. Her voice strains but nothing comes out.

( _And she can’t see, can’t turn around, can’t ( **not allowed to** ) move, but she knows with a dreamlike knowledge that Jack is behind her, staring._)

( _Jack-o-lantern. Ha._ )

She tries to call out again, for Emily ( _because Chris and Jess are teetering on the edge right now and Em’s not that close yet so Em’s available, right?_ ), but her breath is scratching against rock in her throat and there is nothing again.

They start to leave, go towards the burning wreckage of the lodge.

_No, no. No no no don’t leave me don’t leave me don’t leave me don’t leave me don’t leave me don’t leave me don’t leave me don’t leave me don’t leave me_

—

Emily’s hand shakes her, not gently. “You’re up, Beth.” Her gaze is cool and calm, likely smothering the mountain-made fear and panic she felt like an iron maiden. Honestly, if Emily could literally kill any perceivable weakness like that, she probably would.

“ _Beth_.”

“Yeah.” Lost in metaphors again.

—

Once inside the interview room, Beth talks. She can’t stop talking.

Couldn’t hold onto Hannah, but she tried, honest she did. Makkapitew. Jack saved her, trained her up. The wendigos. The miners. The morgue. The wolves. Scratches and bites and infections resultant ( _survivable but the fever is the nastiest bitch_ ). Hannah possessed; _wendigo’d_ , but she recognised Beth ( _sometimes_ ). Laughs and a little anecdote about how she accidentally called Jack ‘Dad’ once ( _doesn’t talk about the times after where she was honest_ ). Didn’t expect the others to come back, ever. Didn’t know that Josh would get so bad, didn’t think that _being dead_ would do that. Choked on remembering Hannah’s long, long hands crushing his head and she can still hear him screaming. Yes, she saw what happened to Sam. No, she didn’t know why Mike didn’t make it out. Did she know about Mike pointing a gun at Em? Yes, and she yelled because _that’s not how it works_ , told you already. Don’t know what happened to Ash, but she can guess. Don’t know what happened to Matt, but she can guess.

“Can I have a glass of water?”

They ask about Jack, but she shakes her head, shakes the questions away. She doesn’t know much, she says. Not her place to say, anyway. Yes, she’s sure he’s not to blame for any of it. Not like he decapitated himself.

Everything else blurs and she’s tired.

—

Beth wasn’t lying when she said the infection burnt like hell.

Emily writhes in her hospital bed, her hair all over the place, slicked with sweat and plastered to her temples and forehead in waves.

“Hey.”

Emily thrashes ( _and Beth flinches; it looks like she’s about to bend in half – where’s the fucking nurse?_ ) to look at her. “Beth,” she rasps. “ _Beth._ ” A sob, soft and lighter than her usual pitch.

_God, I’m so fucking tired if I’m thinking about voice-pitch._

Considering she hasn’t slept in three(?) days… yes, she’s tired.

Jess and Chris are asleep in their own hospital beds, not too far from Emily’s room, so Beth can check on them as she pleases. Mom and Dad are begging her to come home already, but they can wait a bit longer. She’s not going to be eaten here. Hopefully.

“Hey, Em,” Beth says, crouching down by the bed and holding onto Emily’s hand. God, the touch is burning.

“I think I’m dying.”

“No, you’re not. It’s a really bad fever and it’s a motherfucker, but you won’t die, OK? I promise.”

Beth leans in and presses a kiss against Emily’s cheek. It’s a poor attempt at comfort against the nonstop burning through Emily’s veins and the constant sweating, and Beth grimaces internally at the salty tang of it, but it’s all she has to offer for now. And words.

“You’re gonna survive this. _We’re_ gonna survive this.”

Emily clamps down on a whimper. The rest of the night passes without much change.

( _When the fever and infection goes away – either breaking or medicated, Beth doesn’t care – she presses another kiss against Emily’s cheek. “Told you.”_ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as a prompt for an RP partner (who deleted :( fare-thee-well, my angel).


	3. UD/CANON: CHRIS : any bold move, you'll regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris does some hand-wringing over Ash and Josh in the supposedly-unrequited romantic sense. AKA, Weenie Hut Junior doesn't make a move. Ever. (Chris --> Ash&Josh.)

Ash and Josh. Ash-and-Josh. Ash-Josh. AshJosh. ashjoshashjoshashjosh.

A lot of ‘sh’ noises to fill your mouth; say them too quick and they turn to slippery, slithering ‘s’ sounds. Ass ( _sorry Ash_ ). Joss ( _… Stone. haha, whoops, sorry, Josh_ ).

You don’t tell them that, obviously. It’s all just word-jumble nonsense in your head, stemming from what you want.

If it were ever to be A Thing, would it be difficult to navigate? The three of you, together. Always assuming they like-like you back ( _as if_ ), would they feel the same to each other? Maybe they could still be friends, even then. It’s possible.

You won’t tell them, though. Not even when it burns brightest and most hot in your chest.

All the friendship you have with them should be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does anyone remember joss stone or.


	4. UD/CANON: CHRIS : shame on your father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris kinda-sorta misses (or thinks about missing) his dad. But he doesn't, really. It's just nostalgia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: arguing parents, child being hit once.

Sometimes you think about your dad, wonder if you’re being unfair about… not-trusting or hating or just not-caring about him. You’re not sure what your exact feelings are, but either way, they’re not positive. They’re not even neutral.

You think about the nightmare you had on the night Mom decided it was the last straw and packed up and left with you and all that she could get her hands on (and stuff in her pockets and your pockets and your schoolbag). Mom and Dad would fight a lot and it seeped into your dreams, become nightmares and Mom was always so angry and you were scared she was gonna kill him one day. That night, she did – but only in your nightmare. With a chainsaw. Should never have watched that scary movie so young, _tsk tsk_ , shame on your father for leaving it on.

They woke you up with another fight (and you hate remembering that, you really do – you hate remembering anything before Josh), loud and screaming and you wonder if anyone’s gonna call the cops again in fear of a possible murder. And you didn’t want that to happen, so it’s only natural that you want them to stop before it happens again.

They were red. In each others’ faces. His back to you. You pull on his sleeve. And – you can kinda understand, because he was angry and he wouldn’t’ve usually–

But he hit you. A backhand to your cheek. And Mom– she screams again, high-pitched and so so so so angry. Angry for you. You think. She screams at him that _that’s it, we’re leaving, you bastard, you useless bastard_ , and he just stands there. He looks blank. Shocked. (At least, as far as well as you can remember. You might be embellishing.)

So Mom packed up everything she could and took you and flagged down a taxi to a hotel.

It was the 13th of December. _Merry Fucking Christmas, Kiddo._

He probably regrets it, but he made no effort to fight to have even partial custody, only initiating contact when you were 16 and then dropped off the face of the earth again when you told him to fuck off, so who cares. _Who fucking cares._ He’s an asshole, so who cares about being fair.


	5. FDL/OC: SICILY & DONNA : housewarming party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First week living together, and Sicily proposes a housewarming party of sorts. Donna is... not sure what to make of it, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sicily is nonbinary (maybe agender?), using she/her and they/them pronouns. Is this note strictly necessary? Probably not, but now y'all know.

It’s Halloween and Sicily is telling Donna that they’re having friends over for dinner.

“OK… but what’s dinner got to do with…” She gives the two objects in Sicily’s hand a hard grimace. “ _Those_?”

_Horse masks_. What the actual kind of fucking lunatic did Donna land as a housemate?

“Oh, this is just a silly tradition me, Mags, and DD have.”

“Tradition!” Voice high as her eyebrows now. “Right, yeah.”

“Also, it’s Halloween.” Sicily gives her a kind-of-endearing, kind-of-freaky-looking grin – upper lip curled up, top front teeth biting down on her bottom lip. And an eyebrow-waggle or three.

Did Donna think ‘kind-of-endearing’? She meant ‘utterly fucking freaky’.

“Right, yeah.” Snaps away from the horse masks (fuckin’ hell, she can remember Beau tugging at her to show this sort of stupid shit on the internet when they were in uni) and asks, “So who’s Mags and DD?”

“Margaret and Deirdre, friends of mine. Mags is a college history teacher, and DD works at the uni as an English Lit tutor. We met in a traffic jam.”

Kinda tragic that this is the second-most they’ve spoken in six days. On the 27th, Donna let slip that she’s a widow. Sicily was sympathetic without hovering and making those annoying ‘oh-i’m-so-sorry’ sounds out of courtesy. Offered a hand to hold and a shoulder to cry on – literally, which was a little funny.

“They’re lesbians.”

“OK.”

“You don’t have a problem with lesbians, do you?”

“Only problem I have, as a bisexual–” Yeah, sure let’s just blab about sexuality, same-paging or whatever. “–Is that not enough of them are kissing me.”

Sicily laughs – it’s a weird laugh; a cross between a donkey and a 5-year-old girl’s cackle. Donna likes it.

“Cool beans, Don.” Donna likes the new nickname, too.

“Glad we’re on the same page, Sis.”

By the way Sicily grins (and shakes those _godawful_ horse masks), she likes _that_ new nickname, too.

(Mags and DD are just as weird with the horse masks when they turn up.)


	6. FDL/OC: MAC & LULA : hanging on, and over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the morning after a long night of drinking, and Lula's not that great. Good thing Mac's there to look after her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: vomit. it's not graphic but it's there.

She feels like gangrene and moss inside, rotten and hot stomach threatening to bubble over and froth. The tell-tale bitter, watering taste is in her mouth, and she starts to roll off the bed; the toilet is the destination.

Then there’s Mac by her side and he’s shrouding her with his body, guiding her, steering her to where she was already on the way to. Thanks, man, appreciate this hover-brothering. Really.

Lula’s simultaneously annoyed and grateful when he holds her hair back as she empties her stomach from the night before – two bottles of white wine, a drop of red wine, a slice of cheesecake, cranberry dessert, and three chocolate-chip cookies.

He strokes her back and she spits out the rest clinging to the inside of her cheeks, clinging to her teeth. He mumbles an offer of toothbrush and toothpaste, and she groans in response. “… Yeah.”

He pats her back and grunts as he stands back up. He’ll never be far, not these days.


	7. FDL/OC: MAC & LULA : how would you like to die?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lula's a morbid little shit. Mac, unfortunately, has to put up with it. _Like always._

Lula pokes him in the shoulder with her shoeless foot. “How would _you_ like to die?”

The whole point of moving around and not standing still so you don’t get shot at or stabbed or ripped apart or eaten alive is so that you stay a-fucking-live.

Might as well entertain her, all the same. They have a long drive ahead.

“Hmm.” A filler noise as he thinks. “Dying of old age would suck absolute ass.”

“No shit.” She shoves at his shoulder, so he smacks her leg. “ _Ow_!”

“Then stop shoving me, asshole.”

“Only shoved you _once_.”

Mac doesn’t bother with a response, keeping his mouth shut into a thin line and his eyes on the stretch before them. He can tell himself he’s not in the mood to deal with her childishness right now, but she won’t stop. She never does.

“… Question!” See? A three-year-old.

“Al _right_ , I’m just establishing all the ways that’re shit.” Clucks his tongue, quiet for a moment, then: “Strangling would be shit.”

“And hanging. That’d suck.”

“Shooting. Stabbing. Nope and nope.”

“Being crushed would take for-fucking-ever. You know, like a bookcase.”

“Mmm.”

There isn’t, really, any way that he would like to die – they’re all terrible and painful and carry the worst feeling of failure.

“… Poison. I would choose poison. I would choose.”

Lula is quiet, still, then nods. “Sounds like a plan, my man.”

He doesn’t like the sound of ‘a plan’.


	8. UD/OC: JAKE : debris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-mountain with eye-injury. :^)

bulb-light glimmers down at the top of his eye, the one he can see out of. flicks his head up and squints. flicks back to the laptop screen. bad posture: crossed legs and hunched over and leaning head.

squiggles cross his vision. sighs and rubs. ends up jostling the connecting cord between headphones and audio jack, pulling headphones skewed. huffs and thumps at the keyboard, then readjusts his headphones.

checks the volume. 16%. could be louder – 20% – could be louder – 24% – ok good enough. listened to the playlist four times already; there’s 204 songs.

taps away at a time-waster game. useless eye itches; could’ve had a glass one and he’s considered…

more squiggles. more glimmers. more volume (30% – it’s not good).


	9. UD/CANON: BETH : jealousy [meta/headcanon]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The first point is supported by this [http://holyfuckabear.tumblr.com/post/130457097375/lets-over-analyse-beth-washington] piece of meta, regarding Beth as a character. The second point is influenced & supported by this [http://untildawnbethanywashington.tumblr.com/post/137121399207/untildawn-headcanons-beth-was-secretly-jealous] little headcanon.)  
> Slightly edited because I can’t remember what I’d originally put in the note-asterisks in for, so they’re gone, lmao  
> Also Sam/Beth shipping bias ;) bc lol

A major source of Beth’s jealousy lay in her interpersonal relationships. Firstly, in the attention given to her siblings by her parents; secondly, in her friendship circle, & even then there’s still a link back to her siblings.

‘[I]n a household of three children, this [attentiveness to Josh’s mental health by the parents] may not have resulted in every child getting what they needed.’ (linked meta.) Add to this the attention Hannah was likely afforded through tennis lessons, it’s almost certain that Beth was jealous of her siblings. However, she is quite clearly protective of Hannah (running out after her in a snowstorm, giving her the jacket, running back for her when she falls, and standing between her and the thing that chased them [Makkapitew] to the cliff edge), and it can be surmised that she is also protective of Josh as well. From that, it’s likely she rationalized that her parents were to blame: she’s the Responsible Sibling, forced to grow up and mature faster than she would’ve otherwise (and likely the shoulder to cry on or seek comfort for her sibs), so she held them responsible. _If you gave me the same attention, I wouldn’t be jealous of my siblings._ And even then, she’d likely understand that it’d be difficult to do so.

In the trio of Sam-Beth-Hannah, Beth could’ve felt jealous of both girls, particularly of their friendship. Of Hannah, because Sam was always going to be _Hannah’s_ best friend _first_ (and with Beth’s possible crush on Sam, she may have agonized over the possibility [in her mind] that Hannah and Sam would date each other [if preferences potentially allowed]). Of Sam, because Hannah was her twin sister and first friend, likely her only closest friend before they met Sam.

Interesting to note that the targets of her jealousy are the people she’s closest too and is protective of. So it may be likely that she was, at one point, jealous of Chris once he made friends with Josh (this being _before_ Josh’s mental health problems arose; also likely that Hannah may have felt similarly jealous) – a shift in the dynamics between her, Hannah, and Josh, now that Chris was in the equation, which Beth may have resented, even though it was likely a temporary jealousy.

Beth’s jealousy likely stems from a change in circumstance or interpersonal dynamics: first, when Josh made friends with Chris; second, when Josh’s mental health issues started; third, when Sam and Hannah became friends. And yet she would direct the anger resultant of that jealousy elsewhere (in the case of Josh’s friendship with Chris, this is exempt; being young, she may have pulled faces at him for a week): anger at her parents for forcing her to grow up and being unable to care for the needs of all three children equally; and anger at those who hurt (and/or mistrust/wariness of those who could potentially hurt) those she considers closest to her. For this last, she may have kept a wary eye on Mike (object of Hannah’s affections).

Overall, despite being jealous of those she is closest too and is protective of, she is more likely to direct the anger/aggression/resentment elsewhere, whether they’re deserving of it (Bob and Melinda), or not (Mike).


	10. UD/CANON: BETH : just short of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _What are you, Bethany Washington?_

you’re never quite comfortable with yourself. in a bunch of stupid ways, you guess.

you like purple. someone – josh – buys you something purple-ish. it’s a notebook. it’s lilac. or lavender. it’s too _soft_ **for you**. you tell him thanks. you think you’re convincing enough because josh doesn’t offer to change it for something else.

you like the water. or what’s in it – the ocean, far from land. someone asks if you were a mermaid in a past laugh. a jibe. you don’t answer.

no. you think of yourself as having outgrown mermaid tales and fantasy. or at least of the pretty and safe and soft ones. but even the sailor-killers aren’t quite enough to keep your interest.

(is this about comfort or boredom? why are you always to bored and irritable, **_BETHANY?_** )

shadows and blurs – manage to keep your interest for about five seconds.

(you dream about being someone else. _someone dangerous._ **why is that?** )

sometimes you’re sure of what you are. for instance, you’re sure that you’re bi. until the day you reconsider, reevaluate, and think back on the people you’ve kinda had a thing for – almost exclusively women and girls. maybe someone who’s nonbinary, but you’re not entirely sure. so maybe you’re a lesbian.

but you had it figured out, goddamnit.

and even now sometimes you see someone _who isn’t a woman_ and it has you wondering **yet again**.

what are you, bethany?

**_no idea._ **


	11. UD/CANON: BETH : hungry girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beth survives, but _something_ follows her home.

Your appetite drops when you come home. You’re cold. You remember the monster, fleshrot, fire, screamingscreamingscreaming, hot cheek cut open and slick ( _how didn’t i die? why? why? why?—_ ).

(Did you drop her? Did she slip? _What happened, Beth?_ )

They won’t believe you. You stare. You cry. You only say it once, then shrink to nothing. Never say it again. Never.

You miss Hannah. It’s like having your stomach ripped out of you, your other organs spooling out after it; stones replace everything, make you heavy with guilt.

They don’t look at you the same.

Chris regards you with a chill, even though he probably doesn’t want to; he doesn’t know whether you dropped Hannah, either.

Sam is tired. Sam cries a lot, which scares you (when have **you** cried? don’t you miss her? ~~don’t you feel her hunger?~~ ). She stays with you, and Josh.

You don’t tell her — you don’t tell her — you don’t tell her. Not without Hannah. It’s not right. (You like her. You like her _alot_.)

Josh is upset. That’s the only word that’s making sense, here, because — you don’t know any other words that can describe him right now ( _he’s complex_ ).

They’re looking for Hannah. They are.

 

***

A month later (31 days, 31 days since you fucking dropped her and you should’ve gone with her—), and you’re… feeling a craving. You’re not sure what for, but at least your appetite’s come back. You mention it to Sam and to Josh (and Chris, once you’re both within earshot of each other. you miss him.).

It intensifies. You’re eating anything you can get your hands on. You’re not gaining weight.

(Do you feel **her** hunger?)

***

(Do you dream?)

You do. You dream that you’re the thing, body-twisting through the night, hunger digging it’s teeth at your stomach lining as you hunt. Vengeful hunger and waiting. Waiting.

Long claws in a girl’s eyes. Malformed hands raining down on a boy’s face. Tearing a head off shoulders. Burn him alive. Rip her jaw off.

But it’s not enough. You’re still hungry.

You miss her.

 

***

Next year. It’s the most hungry you’ve ever been.

(You’ll join her.)


	12. UD/CANON: CHRIS : what’s your favourite movie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Details are forgettable. Didn't you know that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fckin vague-ass summary bc it's not even much lol

You can’t remember what your favourite movie was when you were nine and Josh asked you. It was one of the first things he asked you, and it makes sense because his dad’s in the movie-making industry, so. Yeah. You remember talking about it, though, being really excited about it and blabbing on for, like, 10 minutes about every single dot of trivia about it that you’d memorised. And that Josh was just as enthusiastic about it, so you think, now, that it was probably a favourite of Josh’s, too.

Josh doesn’t have any one singular favourite movie. Genre? Horror. But anyone and everyone knows that.

You think that Ashley’s favourite is a Disney movie, probably _Alice in Wonderland_. Or maybe it’s a different movie. Maybe not even Disney. You remember her telling you she liked _Alice in Wonderland_ , but maybe you just made it up that it’s her favourite.

And you can’t, for the life of your own, remember what Sam’s is, or if she even has one. No wait, she does; you remember her telling you at least three times before. And you still have to ask again.

You wonder if it’s a fault on your part that you just can’t remember. What that says about you if you can’t remember something so simple about your friends.

You don’t even know if you have a favourite movie. Or a favourite TV show, or a favourite video game. But maybe that’s because it all changes. Yeah, nostalgia – but favourites come and go and change all the time.


	13. UD/CANON: CHRIS : memory soft; makes me cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But other details are more memorable, unfortunately. Especially the details that make dads seem likeable when they no longer are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not a sequel/tie-in with the previous "chapter" but :9 lol

It hits out of a moment of weakness, sometimes. A little dent in shoddy armour he’s made for himself, and he remembers life before Josh. Funny way of marking two phases: Before, and After a person appears in your life. Shows how important he is.

***

Memory of good times in Las Vegas, when Mom and Dad weren’t fighting or drunk. And there were times of both the good and bad, often as each other.

Dad picks him up from kindergarten, takes him out for a snack at his favourite fast-food place. Dad smiles and laughs to Chris’ stories about that day at school, how fun it was learning about… whatever it was that Chris was talking about (he can’t remember what it was, now). Dad asks about something – a crack in Chris’ glasses. Chris goes quiet, then, and shrugs. Dad pats his head, then asks about the rip in Chris’ new trousers at the knees. Chris stays quiet, and stops eating, stares at the table.

Dad tells him it’s not his fault that kids are mean sometimes. Chris starts crying, big fat tears trickling down his cheeks, palms pushing up his cheeks and at his eyes, pushes his glasses out of the way.

Dad takes him home, carries him home. Doesn’t let go of Chris, even when they’re home. Kisses his forehead and tells him he’s the best little boy in the world and that anyone else is jealous that they’re nowhere near as good as Christopher Davis Farnham.

They watch movies all afternoon. Dad surprises him with cake and ice cream.

***

The memory hits him slowly at the stroke of midnight, silent and curled up in his bed in the attic. Hits slow, weighs down like an ever-increasing weight on his chest, squeezing out tears he didn’t know were still there. Sharp, surprised gasp; wipes at his face. It’s the last of it, he thinks, but there’s more. And a splutter, a whimper. He pulls the bedcovers over his head to muffle the sound. He curses his father and his mother, wishing that he did not remember.


	14. UD/OC: JAKE : you looked for it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You looked for it, Jake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for implied underage rape, and self-blame.
> 
> i fucking hate this.

You were 15 and looking for fun, and you found it. In Her, because she was the first to approach you, eyes shiny and wide and dark, and Him, hands on the steering wheel and grinning, friendly-looking.

You asked, in an all-around-the-houses way, how old they were. They said 17. They looked a bit older, you thought, but shrugged it off. You asked and you trusted their answer, that they were not much older than you.

It was in a car, a jeep, and you said _Yes_. Said _Yes_ for a while. Shy, but said _Yes_ to a lot of things.

Then you got tired, or bored? Achey. Half-way through but they wanted to keep going, even though they look ready to collapse, even though you said you were tired.

Strobe lights. Thumping music, muffled, from the building they were parked behind. Maybe they were on drugs.

Tired, wanted to go, shaky legs, but they kept convincing you: _one more, one more._

Then _they’re_ tired, taking a break, and you’re tired in two ways ( _what time is it?_ ) and irritable from the ache of too much. You snag something out of His pants pocket. ID. He’s older. Grab Hers. She’s older.

And it’s… _gross_. They _lied_ to you. You shout at them and they try to calm you but _nope, nope, nope_ – strike out and Her head bounces off the tinted glass window and He’s holding his jaw and groaning and you grab what’s yours and you scramble out and you go, pulling everything back on, stumbling, then running.

_Home. Bed. Sleep. Shower tomorrow (it’s the weekend). Don’t leave the house._

—

OK, a mistake happened, but it’s no big deal. Really. So a couple of losers lied to you, whatever! Whatever.

And you look around online sometimes at whatever and sometimes you see something – it’s important to know, obviously. Consent. Fully-informed. On-going. Stop when they say anything other than Yes.

It wraps around your ribcage, sometimes. It tells you: _That was a Wrong Thing to do ~~, what happened to you~~._

Sometimes, you think you’d be better off not knowing.

( **It wasn’t that bad.** )


	15. UD/OC: JAKE : lock & key

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake's home alone for the night. He can deal with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for paranoid thoughts.

Home alone. Dark outside, now. Josh is out with Chris and Ash somewhere, and the baby twins are at Sam’s. Mom and Dad are in the next city over – movie stuff, new thing. Something like that?

You weren’t feeling up to going out, so you’re holding the fort.

Did you lock the door? No need, you tell yourself, you’re close enough to hear it open and close when people come home – they depend on you, so don’t lock it.

Are the windows closed? Warm night, don’t bother. Could put the fan on to keep you cool, but then it gets to chilly for you, and then you’re in a constant circle of too hot and too cold.

Did you lock the back door? Nah, leave it open. Again, warm night.

Home is a castle; home is an impenetrable fortress.

But is it?

You sure you don’t want to lock both doors, close all the windows? Maybe pull the blinds down, too, just in case.

Just in case?

Never know, not really, who’s out there.

Think: shooter outside your bedroom window. Silent helicopter (but it doesn’t make sense!). Even in the gloom, it’ll find you.

Think: the front door’s not squeaky. You won’t pay attention. Who’s that at the door? Not Josh. Not Hannah. Not Beth. Not a friend.

( _—Remember that joke about the paranoid fella with low self-esteem? He thought nobody important was out to get him._ )

And ladders. You might not hear it–

What was that? Floor above. The house settling? Probably. Check it out, just in case. Grab a knife, the biggest one, and go upstairs.

There’s nothing (that you can see, even with all the lights turned on).

Close all the windows (except the one’s in your father’s study – the door to it is locked. someone might break it down from the inside if the window’s open. might break it down and kill you before you can blink because you won’t know what to do.).

Close the back door, lock it. Lock the front door. You’ll hear hammering fists against it, you tell yourself. Beth, probably.

Keep the knife. Hide it under the cushions, so no-one looks at you funny when they come home ( _if_ they come home, _if_ they don’t die suddenly). Turn the volume on the TV down. Put subtitles on.

Wait until they come home.

(Ask, “What’s the password?” with a grin. Piss ’em off. Play it cool.)


	16. UD/CANON: CHRIS : a season’s first

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Emma's first (proper) Halloween.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for a halloween prompt for mandy. <3

Chris was still fiddling with the last bits and bobs of Emma’s costume. To Emma’s credit, she’s the most patient three-year-old, even when she sighs and grumbles and whines, “Hurry up Daaaaaad.” He nods as he pulls the needle through on it’s last journey, then hums his triumph. “All ready, pumpkin.”

“No, I’m a sorc’ess.”

“Ah! Right!” He says, and claps a hand to the side of his face. “How could I forget? You are a sorceress! Yes, indeed.”

He helps her put the costume on, and grins up at Ashley when she comes into their daughter’s bedroom, already dressed for trick-or-treating, and Chris’ costume hanging off a coat-hanger. “You ready to look like death?”

“I sure am, you _very scary_ Red Riding Hood.”

Emma pulls a tongue when both parents kiss.


	17. UD/CANON: CHRIS : what are you scared of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris has doubts about himself. (But what's new, really?)

The people who matter get what you mean when you tell them. You feel it in your gut, like a vital organ ( _worth more than three kidneys_ ), when you tell them, hands intertwined with themselves and fingers picking at loose threads on your shirt’s sleeve cuffs and pulling them looser. Mom says, kindly, timidly, that you’ll unspool your entire shirt if you keep doing that.

You’ve pretty much known, or had a roundabout idea, at least, since you were thirteen, and not much has changed. You’re not interested _that way_ , and you’re **_really_** not interested in _that_. In fact, it makes your skin crawl at the thought of engaging in it. ( _Clinical word:_ **ENGAGING.** )

Not that you’ll judge anyone who does do that, or even if they do in a manner that seems to be **excessive**. It’s not your business. And it’d be _rude, otherwise. You’re rude in general, but not like _that_._

_But lately? You’ve been rethinking it. Giving it a thorough think-over, wondering if it’s true, or if you’re thinking of eventual nervousness. If you’d ever… _do that_._

_And maybe, you think, it is just that. Maybe, possibly, hypothetically, etc., etc., and all that. And it’d be _easier_ , maybe, if you were ever in a relationship, to just be _interested_. Or at least _not so opposed to the idea_. It’d be _easier_ for them, you think. It’d just be _easier_ , less _complicated_. There wouldn’t have to be awkward talks, no sorry attempts at soft letdowns._

_Or maybe that’s just self-doubt speaking, talking down at you. Who knows. And it might suit the both of you, not being interested._

_( _But what are you afraid of? Really?_ )_


	18. UD/OC: JAKE : chop and change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's not a good person. But sometimes he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: implied underage (both 16).

You could be good enough. Sometimes you think that. Because it’s not an inherently _bad_ thing. First time was a bad time, but so what? And so what if there’s a constant hunger in your head for it? And so what if you act on it more than you probably should, even if it’s a fleeting thing, and you’re just looking for it, not the person ( ** _admittedly, a little mean, the thing and not the person. you feel appropriately guilty about that._** )? You could settle. Maybe not calm, but there could be someone. Someone and you, and it could work. Maybe.

So long as you don’t think about how selfish you are. Or how it could be the one, single qualifier that you look for.

You’re as shallow as rainwater-puddles, you think sometimes. And that others deserve better, so much better than a diseased and ugly thing with only one circular thought in its head. Diseased in your head, ugly on your insides.

Your touch is like poison. Like with Laura. Pretty and copper-ginger and freckled, so freckled. The _good_ first, and she seemed… amazed, at first, just right after. Then upset. Because you didn’t like her that way. Quietly upset. But she carried it with grace and you said sorry like a young schoolboy. You parted ways. And she looked for _more_.

See? You’re poison.

Or maybe you’re not. Because it wasn’t excessive on her part ( ** _that you know of_** ), and it was one boyfriend she ended up with. A bit of a flirt is what she was, but she always was. Harmless flirt who ended up in a relationship with someone who actually likes her.

So in the end you might’ve just been the starting block, really. For her.

You’re not a bad person.

Sometimes.


	19. UD/OC: JAKE : home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake comes home from work to a warm bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for j. beepboop <3
> 
> an excuse to write domestic sweetness for these two.

It’s two in the morning and you’re yawning as you leave, waving goodnight and good morning to your colleagues (Mara’s engaged and giddy; she, you, and Carla had a little Excited Moment together before your shift started). Maybe you shouldn’t be driving when you’re so tired (so damn tired, body-tired, work-tired even though you like the work), but you don’t chance leaving it in the parking lot. You’re extra wary of traffic lights and other drivers on the way home, and you flip off Ronnie from 3B as he pulls out of the apartment’s parking lot way too fast; he flips you off, too.

It takes you three tries to park straight and you thump the steering wheel after, startling yourself by the brief beep from the horn. _Shit._ Did anyone else hear that? Probably. Chris? Also probably; asleep in bed, but still probably anticipating you coming home. Unless he’s still up (you can’t see your window from here), lost in the hours ( **time is a social construct!** ) and hunkered over a desk, tinkering with code.

You double, triple, quardruple-check that your car’s locked, pulling on the handle to make sure; the few times you’ve left it unlocked, you’ve been lucky. But don’t leave it to chance.

Twirling you keys on the keychain, dropping them, picking them up, twirling them again. Rinse-repeat as you walk up the stairs. And whistling. You hear the landlord’s dog start barking, and your landlord tell him to shush it, for goodness sake.

4C. Your apartment. Yours and Chris’. Took way too damn long from the car park to the door – from work’s back door to the bed. You're inside now, and double, triple, quadruple-check the door’s locked. Drop your keys off in the bowl on the coffee table without turning on the lights; there’s enough starlight, and you don’t wanna wake Chris up (guessing that he’s asleep because there’s no light from under the bedroom door).

Slip in, quiet, strip off your clothes that kinda reek of kitchen smells and dump them in a hamper. The desk chair skids when you knock it, and Chris mumbles, stirring in his sleep. Still. Wait. He doesn’t wake. Phew. Down to nothing but boxers as you slip into bed.

Soon as you’re in, he turns over, flopping an arm over your chest. “Been waiting,” comes out in a sleep-softened mumble; his eyes open, woken up. Sigh softly, brush a thumb against his arm. Shuffle closer, watch as he falls asleep again, breath evening out.

When you wake up, he’ll be in the kitchen making coffee and breakfast. You’ll make a comment about the kitchen being your territory (old news, now, and it’s not strictly true anymore), and he’ll laugh, _Too bad._ You’ll laugh, and kiss him.


	20. UD/CANON: CHRIS : not a sufferer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guilt says you deserve to suffer. But it's never enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for internalised ableism

You’re stuck in a long, cloudy haze of _I don’t know what to do! What do I do now?_ In a way, you think, it’s _better_ than thinking about it. Better to work up a stress, to work up a potential stomach ulcer to think about _what’s next_ , rather than being pulled in by your memories.

Not that it _works_.

Rationale says you should get that shit looked at, pal. Go to a doctor. Admit you’re suffering. You can’t sleep at night because that’s when **_they_** are out, and hunting. Even when they’re dead and crispy and soul-loosened, they’re hunting you in your dreams. You can’t sleep during the day, either, or at least not much, and your eyesight goes blurry and your balance is off-kilter and you’re irritable ( **_oh, you’re always irritable now, dear_** ) and you cry and you still dream. Sometimes, you sleep without meaning to, and wake up with a choked _scream_.

You think about what you did on the mountain, and Rationale says hindsight is 20/20, that you can’t change it ( _**THE PAST IS BEYOND OUR CONTROL, RIGHT?**_ ), that you were scared and yes, you should’ve been there for Josh, but you can’t always save the people you love. But Guilt says: _You left him. Useless. Can’t protect Ashley for shit. Let that guy die. Almost let Emily die. Should’ve gone looking for Josh. Why would you trust anyone else with him? Why would you do that?_

Why _would_ you do that?

( **_You were angry. So angry. So betrayed, even when he was. And you couldn’t do it. Not with your leg._** )

Guilt says: _You don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve help. They do, but not you._

So you rot. You’re not a _sufferer_ , not a _victim_ , not _truly traumatised_. But you have to make yourself useful. So get cracking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol it's been a while since i posted anything here


	21. UD/CANON: CHRIS : on your own four feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the mountain, Chris has time to come to terms with things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for kate. #iggytheweirddog

You maintain contact with the rest of them. Text, mostly, or by voice on mobile, or Skype, whichever one’s more reliable. Face-to-face is fucking nerve-wracking because faces bring memories and Sam’s face brings the memory of could-be-deadly sawblades retracting and stone and disbelief and cable car and fire.

_Stone._ Strange, that. Lifeless, maybe? Walled. It probably doesn’t last.

But that’s not for you to think of. Because today, Sam’s come over for Iggy. It’s her turn to look after the weird dog, and she’s feeling up for it. And if she can’t, she has her family, she says. And you have yours, you say.

It’s been over a year and the memory still shakes you. You don’t ask her ( _do you need to? you don’t._ ). Because you were tied to him, and she was tied to him ( _you don’t ask how, because that’s rude, although Back Then you might’ve raised a cheeky eyebrow_ ), and now it’s you two without him. You, Sam, and Iggy. And maybe a Penelope the Pig next week ( _she’s a hamster, but Iggy’s an iguana, and you both call him a weird dog, so._ ).

It might feel like another betrayal on your part when you think, _I don’t **need** him_. It’s been a year, you can move on, right? You both deserve it, and he’s not the centre of your universe, your shepherd and guide and gospel-giver. He was your friend, your first proper friend, but not your crutch, not the be-all-end-all.

So you foist Ruth on Sam the moment she knocks on the door and let the seven-year-old babble about school, grinning as Iggy clicks in your lap because _nyeh-nyeh I’m holding onto Iggy for five seconds more, nyehhh_. Sam threatens to sit on your back and you thumb your nose at her. Sam tries to dislodge herself from Ruth, who’s now clinging to her leg all _dramatique_. You whinge about how Momma Sam only comes for Baby Iggy anymore, and for alimony. Sam threatens to sit on your back, again, but for an entire Disney marathon. Ruth squeals.

It’s you and Sam and Ruth and Iggy and Disney movies. Nobody and nothing else. Except, _maybe_ , **soon** , popcorn throwing.


End file.
